T is for Time

by Paul Vayro

  Chapter Four

  Fate sat in the café he regularly frequented, gazing through the window at Puddleton and its people. He’d often sit and allow his mind to ponder humanity and its curious ways, usually whilst nibbling something that contravened several health regulations, and sipping a hot beverage. He’d been living on the Earth for countless generations yet he never tired of the subtleties and complexities of human routine and communication, especially those that surrounded eating. Today however wasn’t about his usual musings, today he had to ensure the Earth’s inbuilt defence system was activated; thus saving the planet from an imminent alien attack and keeping his job safe. Unfortunately he would have to do it with a hangover and an injury to his forehead.

  The bandage that adorned Fate’s head was excessive. Everyone knew it, including the nurse that applied it. She’d had a long shift with little thanks and didn’t fancy the twenty metre amble to retrieve the scissors; hence she used the entire roll. The fact it made Fate look ridiculous was a small bonus to cheer her up on the walk home. As Fate thought back on the previous night’s events, the stray end of the bandage impinged on his peripheral vision once more. Again he misperceived it to be a fly and flinched in an effort to protect his bagel. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. He couldn’t stand bagels and their smug disposition. He’d asked for a bacon barm but the waitress had either misheard or didn’t care. Either way, Fate didn’t like to make a fuss when it came to food. He’d seen enough of the world to know a wrong order was better than the right dish with added fluids.

  He stared down at the bagel that had been un-lovingly smeared with cream cheese. It looked back with a patronising shimmer. It was a poor substitute for what he’d ordered. He knew it wasn’t going to fill him up, and it cost twice the price. He shook his head, setting off a twinge that shot up his neck and became a pain in the middle of his forehead. The bandage drifted back towards his vision causing another badly timed and agonising flinch. The twitching man at the window was beginning to attract attention from the other customers.

  Luckily Fate was not a memorable man. You could spend weeks drawing a portrait and still be unable to find the words to describe him, but when your job is to control the destiny of every conscious being on the planet it’s helpful to be able to slip in to the background. Even his age appeared ambiguous, looking anywhere between early twenties and late thirties, although his bland appearance was a priceless asset when it came to deflecting the social attention his absent mind and clumsiness would often entice. As if in demonstration, the customers, whose curiosity had been raised by the man in the window, quickly returned their focus to their plates of unapologetically flavoured fat, unable to remember why they’d glanced towards Fate in the first place.

  The sporadic spasms were doing nothing for the controller of destiny's fragile stomach. Gripping the table he calmed his body to perfect stillness, staring at the various condiments' stable nature to focus his own. As the latest wave of hangover induced nausea passed, the danger of vomiting cleared. Fate celebrated by raising his head, in slow stages, and staring back out of the window in his well practised, all knowing manner. He believed this expression had helped him secure the position of Fate, that and some fortunate guesses at a series of frighteningly difficult maths problems.

  The task of controlling every conscious being on a planet sounds daunting, so daunting most people prefer to believe it’s down to one omnipotent being or another; however due to the social nature of humanity it’s a relatively simple task. The domino effect of one action can be so far reaching that simply hiding a shoe in Swansea for ten seconds can bring down the government in Botswana. The skill is being able to see the consequence of an action, and this is where the dribbling man, sitting in the window of an unassuming cafe, is unrivalled.

  Employed by the company that supplies and maintains Earths, it is Fate’s job, along with a host of other concepts including his brother Coincidence and girlfriend Karma, to ensure the planet's original history is played out. Each concept dictates their own methods of achieving the aims set by the Earth Company. Fate chose to place most emphasis on planning and observation.

  Each year Fate received a schedule of what had to occur. By following the chain reaction of consequence backwards he would invariably find one event that could initiate everything with a little nudge from him. It was far easier to identify seven or eight circumstances that needed engineering than spending every day tweaking and interfering with humanity. It also left him plenty of time for socialising and his hobby of cloud spotting.

  Today though cloud spotting would have to wait, for it was a day when his practical interference was required. Informed that aliens were about to freeze time on Earth, in an effort to seize control, it was imperative that the only two humans left unfrozen were the planet's inbuilt heroes: Rick and Biritvind.

  Having thoroughly investigated the pair, and their lifestyle, he’d devised a plan that would ensure the duo remained mobile and ready to act. It had been a relatively simple operation. Unfortunately for Fate it had been misguided. A fax machine running low on ink, combined with his brother’s dedication to creating coincidences (what are the odds of a Brick and Spiritwind living next door to Rick and Biritvind), had seen him target the real hero’s next door neighbours by mistake. Rather than a highly trained pair of moral warriors, Fate was about to activate two men who deemed the term 'hapless misfits' a compliment.

  Had Fate realised his error he would have worked on rectifying it instantly. The last thing he or any of the concepts wanted was to put their own jobs in jeopardy. Unemployment would leave them needing to return to their home planet of Grinflint, an entirely uninspiring world.

  Grinflint had been an insignificant rock with no natural resources. Made entirely from marble it had sat as a perfect sphere without undulation, crevice or pebble to interrupt its surface. Had it not floated in the vicinity of Medlock, a planet of such wealth their smallest unit of currency could buy a reasonably priced solar system, it would have remained that way for all time.

  The unremarkable planet had long been ignored by the Medlockians, until the fashion world decided minimalism was the new everything; at which point they claimed the unoccupied oddity as their own. The people of Medlock quickly instructed their staff to load up their luxury crafts, and within hours the quintillionaires had been chauffeured to the previously pointless ball in space. With little to do but gloat they spent several days showing off the sheer abundance of nothingness to the rest of the universe, before growing restless and deciding minimalism would be far more fun with stuff.

  In line with Medlockian culture they decided spending money was the only answer, and began importing entertainment and a few home comforts. Along with their vast array of goods they also imported the social need to outdo each other, and competitiveness soon took hold. When one family grew tired of the flat horizon they installed mountains in the distance. Not to be beaten, an ocean sprung up in next door's recently imported field, quickly followed by the unveiling of an entire forest at number thirty’s regular Sunday brunch. The competition continued and the planet blossomed; however achieving such a thing had meant hiring countless staff to deal with orders and installation.

  Over time the hired help settled on Grinflint, importing their own workers villages to live in, and began raising families. Unfortunately the career options for their offspring were limited to either admin work or table testing; for a species of admin staff the perfect sit was essential. Fortunately for the people of Grinflint, the Earth franchise company formed. They required people who excelled in organisational ability to work as concepts. Hearing of the race of admin specialists, representatives of the Earth headed to Grinflint. The residents were thrilled to be given a third career choice, and Fate had dreamt of little else since being a boy.

  Fate’s phone flashed on the table in front of him. It was Irony, one of his fellow concepts, ringing for the umpteenth time. He didn’t need to answer. He knew she was only calling t
o gloat.

  The two had never got on. Irony had originally applied to do the job of fate, and she held him personally responsible for her failure to get it. All Fate knew was that he could never do or say anything right. Given the choice he would simply avoid social contact, but Irony was best friends with his girlfriend Karma. Fate continued to watch the phone as the call was diverted to his message service. He wouldn’t be listening to whatever she left.

  Her incessant ringing had awoken him only a few hours ago. He’d answered out of instinct. It could have been Karma and her wrath was not worth risking. Once Irony had stopped laughing she unleashed her smug mockery: “The all knowing Fate, unable to see a lamp post coming.” Irony insisted it fell under her jurisdiction. Somebody must have explained it to her. Irony only got the job because she didn’t understand irony. The owners liked the joke more than the chance to have an effective concept.

  Fate pushed the phone to the edge of the table. He held his head and wondered why he drank so much last night? Why did he drink so much that morning was perhaps a better question. Waking at Fut’s house, another fellow concept, he’d been served a breakfast cocktail. Eggs and bacon went surprisingly well with brandy and cointreau.

  Fate glanced down at his watch. Once the dizziness had passed he deciphered he had ample time to make it to the supermarket and delay Ms Herbert’s shop. It was this delay that would set off the chain of events that would allow Brick and Spiritwind to remain free from the effects of time being frozen. Fate caught the eye of the waitress and signalled a request for another coffee. It had taken him a while to perfect the execution of the subtleties of human communication he so loved, but it had been worth the time and effort, and the numerous police fines he’d incurred for inappropriate advances.

  Fate considered exactly how he was going to delay Ms Herbert. Between the hangover, throbbing forehead, irritation caused by Irony’s smug gloating, and disappointment at his own weak will, he couldn’t focus. Looking down at his bagel didn’t help.

  The previous evening was supposed to be a civil affair. He’d gone to his friend’s house, Fut, to relax and iron out the final points of today’s plan. Fut works as the planet's spreader of cool and calm, and his house and aura are always a welcoming place to be. Fut had offered to show Fate his latest cocktails, and as a man with lackadaisical tendencies, Fate embraced the idea and put all thoughts of work to one side. He considered promising to change his ways if he could just get through this task successfully, but he couldn’t lie to himself.

  Fate made a decision: he would leave the café and head to the supermarket in fifteen minutes. He would work on his plan to delay Ms Herbert on the way. Pleased he had a firm schedule in place he relaxed, knowing he had a quarter of an hour without the need to think.

  “Maybe I should get some cake to go with my coffee?” He thought.

  The Earth’s odds of survival continued to diminish.

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